Before the Darkness

[Malok]

S U L L U S T​

Darth Metus awoke in a cold sweat.

His body snapped back to the waking world in the middle of the night. Perspiration beaded upon his brow as heavy gasps filled his lungs. For a moment, the Sith afforded himself a few precious seconds to force the realization down his throat. He was awake. He was alive. But...The vicious dream yet lingered in the rear of his mind. Sulfuric eyes wandered over to the door of the quarters provided by the Alliance. It still stood - despite what the dream said would transpire. Only moments before, he had dreamt that it had been torn asunder by the Force.

Lightsabers illuminated the darkness.

Green. Blue. Gold. Silver.

They had come to smite the Darkness in their home.

And leading them was...

[member="Srina Talon"] would feel his distress. The peace of her own slumber would be rattled by the hurricane of emotion radiating from her Master. Turmoil colored his presence - a cacophany of need and aversion all rolled into one. After gasping down enough breaths to settle his thundering heart, slightly, Darth Metus immediately kicked aside the sheets. Rising, he first peeled the tank top from his torso and cast it aside before steadying himself. His palms rested flat upon his thighs as he inhaled precious breaths through his nose and exhaled through his mouth.

Why...

The ragged thought hung at the forefront of his mind. Was this just a dream? Or was this...a sign of what was to come? Had his own actions forged a future? Or was this a warning that his efforts were futile? The thoughts quickly multiplied and worsened, spiraling so much so that his heart began to thunder away in his chest once more. Every fiber of his essence was alive with the conflict - every corner of his mind wrestled over how to interpret what he had seen. Logic demanded that this was just stress...He was on the capital of the Alliance - a notoriously anti-Sith planet. And his own deception had damaged his bond with Srina.

So much so that, with the exception of political ventures such as these, she no longer stood by him. The gap between them only seemed to widen and worsen over time.

Had he pushed her into the arms of the Jedi?

Would hers be the hands that end him?

No.​

Darth Metus dug his fingernails into his thighs, banishing the terror of his mind immediately. The pain brought him back to reality and anchored him, forcing him to think clearly. Above all else, Srina Talon belonged to him. She would not, ever, raise a hand against him; even if it meaned failing his own standards. And she knew...that above all, he belonged to her all the same. Or...at least, he hoped she did. Turning to the door, the Sith operated on pure instinct alone. His footsteps were eager, driving him out of his room and across the hall. His knuckles would find the metal of Srina's own quarters, rendering a gentle knock.

Yet, while the sound was gentle, his need screamed through their Bond.

For the first time in so long, Darth Metus was...afraid.

"Srina...I need you."

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Sleep did not come easily, not with the bright lava flows rolling right outside her window, and the possibility of enemies lingering around every corner. The slender Echani lay still, troubled by the events of the day, and very, very aware of two other people sleeping within the confines of the Diplomatic Consulate. Slowly, throughout the day, she found herself suffocating in the gilded tomb known as Sullust. It was luminescent outside but it wasn’t from the light of day. The air behind the transparisteel glass was toxic. It boggled her mind why anyone would choose to live or maintain capital buildings in such inhospitable conditions.

Byllurun could only be so beautiful, despite technological advances, when it was wrapped in a cave. Srina loved moonlight, rainstorms, and so many other works of nature that had a soul. Being buried, even willingly, made her feel trapped.

Through the ether, she could feel fear. It didn’t belong to her nor to her recently acquired Jedi. Much to her surprise, the negativity flowed from Darth Metus. It seemed that he was not resting as well as she would have hoped. Between their mutual duties and the absolute chaos that had unfolded in the training area, they hadn’t seen one another in a full day, not even for meals. It was unusual. Typically, when they were in such close proximity, they remained that way. He was the planet and she the satellite caught in his gravity. Everything she did, revolved around him, even with the recent strain.

She had the urge to go to her Master if only to wake him from his nightmare, but vague fear of being rebuked kept her in her own suite. He never had before, but he was stressed, and trapped in a place where he needed to show strength. She didn’t want to make him feel like she was trying to coddle him. That wasn’t the way it worked. He was the Master, she the Apprentice. Even still…His every ragged heartbeat made her stomach churn.

“Wake up Master…Echuio [Wake Up]…”, she whispered to the stillness, her voice nearly inaudible, and swallowed by long shadows. Srina closed her eyes and focused on the man, focused on his pain, his fear, and tried to impart gentler feelings through the connection that bound them. She saw a flash of violence in her mind’s eye. She couldn’t see intent, faces, or what happened…But an overwhelming sense of betrayal burned into her core. To that extent, she did her best, to keep Aryn Teth locked away. He was a good man, full of light and precious Jedi teachings... If he thought for a second that the darkness belonged to her, he would be at her door in an instant. “Please wake up…”

When Darth Metus returned to the waking world she felt, for the first time in hours, a sense of relief. Her chest had felt heavy, like there was a large stone pressing down on it, or even more accurate as if her head had been held down under water. The emotional state of her Master made her feel as if she were drowning. Finally, she could breathe.

Sort of. As his shock wore off, it at least became manageable, but it was by no means pleasant. Darth Metus was a Sith Lord capable of summoning literal demons. What could scare him this way? What could make it feel as if the heavens had come crashing down? As if the mouth of netherworld was opening wide? Srina did not know. He left her breathless once more when his emotions rushed through their mutual connection. His needs were bright, burning, and all-encompassing. The white-haired woman could feel a pull that could only be described as merciless. Want, need, fear… It all tore through her easier than a blaster bolt.

Regardless, she could feel his presence growing, nearing, and she slid out of bed. Bare feet padded over chilly marble and soft overly expensive throw rugs. By the time the dreadlocked man knocked on the door she was already touching the keypad. The portal whooshed open, revealing the bedraggled Sith Lord, wrapped in pain and anxiety. “Master…”, she breathed softly, sweetly, bird-like tones wrought with confusion.

Just as Darth Metus had consoled her in the past, the little Echani relied on physical contact, and quickly closed the distance between them. Her light body collided delicately against his and pale arms immediately wrapped around his neck. He would be forced to catch her lest her feet dangle from the ground. She didn’t have words for the way he was feeling. All she could do was offer comfort the only way she knew how. Eyes closed tight, snow-kissed hair long and loose, she paid little mind toward her state of dress. Anyone could have walked down the hallway and assumed whatever they wanted…

But rumors were for little creatures. Small men, and women, that had nothing else to do with their time. The thin blue silk of her nightgown did very little to hide how feverish her Master felt physically, and for half a second, she wondered if he’d been poisoned. “I am here…”, she whispered close to his ear, tightening her hold, as if she wasn’t enough on her own to keep his demons at bay. Their Force Bond seemed less tight, less tense, once they were close. It was relief. Cold, calm, coolness against his blazing fire. She had never known fear from Darth Metus. Nervousness, naturally…But fear?

It gave her reason to pause, a reason to be afraid, and her heart skipped a beat. It fluttered, anxious, and troubled from the night terror that had left her Master a frightened youngling. “I am here. Av-‘osto… [Don’t be afraid.] What you saw was not real. It was only a dream. It cannot hurt you or me…”

The pressurized doors snapped shut behind her Master once they were out of the way and the slender woman slowly leaned back. His heart was still so uneasy… Eyes made of silver met his, and she let one hand move to his cheek, a feather-light caress. “I will always be here. I told you when we arrived…No matter what…You are not alone.”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

Their Bond was peculiar.

The ethereal line between their hearts did more than convey thoughts and emotions over distance. It placed parts of the one in the other. Over time, Darth Metus found himself understanding things that were far beyond the scope of his knowledge - such as uttering Echani phrases when frustrated or finding comfort in resting a new way. Conversely, the young woman - typically the epitome of tact - had begun to utter the vile profanities her Master had picked up over the year. To say the least, their union constantly and perpetually wove changes between them...

And that was what made the evening's dream all the more terrifying. How could Srina, in a world where they were as bound together as this join with the Jedi to put him down? How could his precious apprentice - a literal extension of himself - ever think to raise a hand against him? She couldn't on Kashyykk. She couldn't now...Darth Metus forced these thoughts to repeat in his mind, attempting to force the unease out of his stomach. In the meantime, his knuckles barely had enough time to rest upon the cool metal of Srina's door for an instant. For, as quickly as he had knocked, the portal slid open.

Master...

Her voice was as gentle as an autumn breeze, bearing with it a comforting chill to quell the fervor of his unease. She made him feel less like a Sith Lord, standing within a Jedi compoud, and more like a man. A human. A being capable of feeling vulnerable and of feeling comfort in another. Edraith enni [Save me] came the plea as gentle as her greeting. The Eshan phrase escaped him, alive with the whole of his vulnerabilities in that moment. She responded as she always did - physically. Her arms wrapped around his neck. Her body pressed against his - and his arms ensnared her waist in return.

Her words were soft in his ears. Quiet assurances that she was there and that the dream was just that - a dream. That her promise held true: he was never alone for she was there.

He wanted to believe her.

Every fiber of his being wanted to simply regard the dream as a product of stress - that he was overreacting due to being so far out of place. But that quiet seed of doubt yet nagged in his stomach. The fear yet persisted, despite the relief and comfort that radiated from the young woman. With but a step forward, the door slid closed behind them; and Srina's fingertips upon his cheek felt cool to the touch. He wanted to...melt as he so often did. He wanted to simply let go. But this was too real - he had been burned too many times before for the fear to evaporate with a touch and whispers.

But he tried.

For a moment, he tried to distract himself. To focus and think about anything other than the dream. He...noticed her - and how the light of lava flows illuminated blue silks. He forced a stray thought to the forefront of his mind - about how the rumor mill would churn if the world could see them. But...despite the way the light played off her alabaster skin, the terror would not be denied. With every thought, it pushed back. With every touch, it pushed back. And Srina didn't know. She was blind to the suffering that captivated his mind. He...He had to tell her. To make her understand why it had shaken him so.

"You killed me." the rumble of his voice had a wounded edge. "You and...those Jedi...that Commander..." He exhaled heavily.

"And I...Every part of me is saying that I'm just stressed...But I can't help but think maybe I'm pushing you away. That I've already shoved you into their arms by not being honest before. That I'm going to lose you...and die because of it."

He leaned close, touching his brow to hers briefly.

Edraith enni...

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Fear. Blinding, reason-killing fear.

Srina could feel it in every breath she took, like frozen needles piercing her lungs. It chilled her from the inside out, despite the heat her Master physically exuded, and a barely visible shiver ran unbidden down the length of her spine. Silver eyes had barely touched him, barely glanced at him, before lithe arms wrapped around his neck. There could be no other response to such an emotion. She did not know the source of it, could not fathom it, and thus could not shield him from it.

The little Echani went still in his arms as the language of his people lingered in her mind. It always surprised her when little pieces of herself filtered through the Sith Lord, or when some inane curse in Mando’a passed through her lips, often without her knowledge. The stress of his fear, combined with vulnerability and anxiety, was causing the integrity of their connection to crack. His emotions had begun to bleed into her being like wildfire, searing everything it touched, scorching her through and through…

“I am here. Amin naa sinome. [I am here.]”, she repeated, forcing her voice to steadiness, despite the fact that she felt like the floor they stood on was made of glass. Srina pulled back slightly to search sulfuric eyes, to search his soul, and what she saw left silver eyes full of unshed tears. Only he seemed capable of reducing her to such inelegant and immature states. Sorrow and tears were made for those that had the luxury to bare their hearts for the world to see… Srina had never had that option. She didn’t want it. Yet here, and now, when she blinked, twin pinpricks of hot water stole down her cheeks.

She had seen his doubt. Distrust. In her.

He could not hide it.

His feelings were tumultuous. Filled with dread so restricted and refined that it almost resembled agony. Her fingers remained on his face, before her hand moved, pressing her palm comfortingly to his cheek. For a moment, he seemed to look at her differently than he had before, as if she were not simply just an apprentice. He had seen her, nearly every day, for months. Yet, only now, did he seem to actually see her. There was a moment she did not understand.

Regardless, there wasn’t time to figure it out, as terror swept it away like an ocean crashing to the shore. Just when she mustered the courage to ask what she had done, to ask why he had found a reason to doubt her so fully, he spoke. What she heard laced confusion within her heart. Just as he was wounded by the nightmare…So, did she feel his pain. It cut her to the bone.

“It was only a dream Master…”, she breathed slowly, breaking the silence that had momentarily descended. The words felt feeble. Srina realized, after a moment, that she was actually in a state of shock. The combined force of their unyielding emotions feeding off of one another conjoined with his admission that he had dreamt of her killing him….It was too much. It was a black hole that sucked everything rational, good, and true down, down to nothing before it was destroyed. “I will never raise my hand against you. You have seen with your own eyes that even in training I hesitate. Even at my worst, when I have been directly affected by something you have done, I have never injured you. Not when we first met…And not in the Forge…”

“You needn’t worry about Aryn Teth. The Commander… He cannot harm you. You are Darth Metus. You are the Vicelord of the Confederacy. You have survived all manner of destruction, even rising from the grave, when it became necessary. I have never met any Jedi that can hold a candle to that strength…You have nothing to fear. Nothing. Amin naa sinome, amin vesta ta. [I am here, I swear it.]”

He leaned close, letting their foreheads touch, and the apprentice remained still. Once again, he mentally called for her to save him. How? How could she save him from demons that existed only in his mind? She did not know what to do. She did not know how to bring him peace if her words were nothing but drops of water against a sea of terror. They were absorbed, swallowed, and made part of the deluge.

Srina inhaled, breath hitching slightly. Would their disagreement in the Forge never cease to cause them difficulties? Not for the first time, she wished, that she’d never followed the whispers down into that dark place. This moment, with her Master so shattered, so frightened in her arms likely would have never come to pass. She wasn’t used to being his strength, to being the pillar that kept him standing, to keep him from drowning beneath the weight of managing several hundred planetary systems.

“…I cannot save you from ghosts…I can’t fight something I can’t see…”, she trailed off quietly, small form still pressed tightly to his, as if it would ward away his uncertainties. Srina could do little more than hold him, the way her mother had always held her after a bad dream, and the hand on his cheek fell into a delicate, reassuring caress. “But if our distance leaves you this damaged…I can try to do better. To try and make things like they were. You haven’t lost me. I just needed a little time…”

“I won’t betray you. Just as I know, that you would never betray me. The Force has a will of its own. Be it dreams or visions…You can never know the truth of them until they arrive. My Sight showed me much about you before we met. Some has come true. Some has not. The future is ever in flux… The Echani believe, when dreaming, that we are merely expressing ourselves. You may see other people, but in the end, it is your subconscious sorting through the anxieties of the day. The faces you see, the things they do, the things they say…It is you.”

That being said, perhaps, her Master had some difficulties that he needed to work through? It would explain a lot, and anyone would crack under the pressure of staying beneath the roof of a former enemy, while trying to form an alliance. When her eyes opened they were filled with gentle, soft, understanding. “Come…Sleep here tonight. I will watch over you.”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

Her touch was as ice.

When her arms snaked around his neck, it was as if Winter itself had descended upon the Sith Lord. Not in the sense of howling winds and vicious cold - but a reprieve from the volcanic fervor of his dismay. His sulfuric eyes never left hers, and though the dream yet lingered in the forefront of his mind he felt...regret almost immediately for sharing the truth with her. To see her beautiful features marred by the sting of this admission...to witness the hot tears form and fall from her eyes...each was like a dagger in the base of his spine.

But she never wavered. She did not retreat from her Master in the face of his vision. No...She placed her hands upon his cheeks. The chime of her voice carried reason into his ears. And her presence bit back the paranoia which bit at the Sith’s heels. She reassured him, without ceasing that she was there. That it was only a dream. That he could trust and believe in her despite his many faults. And though his mind was running a mile a minute, he...knew he could believe her. As she said, even in training she hesitated to raise a hand against him.

And as her form pressed tightly against him, his arms instinctively rose to wrap about her waist. He held her as her hand graced his cheek - as she promised that she would never betray him...and that this was all his mind working against him. ”I...I know that you are right…” came his meek admission into her shoulder. ”I just don’t want this to become real. I don’t want any of this. If it is just me, why am I even thinking these things Srina. You’ve never...ever given me a reason to distrust you. What is wrong with me…”

There were no more words from Darth Metus then, only a slow nod at the offer of his apprentice.

And like they had so many times before, they laid together and soon he was a victim of the embrace of slumber once more. Yet the Echani would always be true to her word - sleep would not come for her just yet. Not while she had the Sith to look after. And mere minutes after his descent into the realm of dreams would she see what he saw. The vision...cold and vicious...played yet again before Darth Metus and bled through their bond. In his previous stupor, the act of waking had caused him to forget details. But now...Now she could see…

A world in flames.​

A Golden Mask rested within Darth Metus’ hands.​

The cries of so many filled the air. Screams. Pleas for mercy.​

He looked upon his Apprentice - a blank expression on his face.​

You would betray your Sole Ruler?​

All the while, the hands of the Sith Lord curled into fists. Power trembled within them - a raw and primal force which now threatened to shake her very quarters apart.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Guilt.

Srina had never considered that what happened to her, in turn, directly affected her Master. It wasn’t until she felt his arms wrap tightly around her midsection, his face, buried in her shoulder—That she realized the likely source of his night terrors. She turned it over in her mind, trying to find the connection, but realized there was only one answer. Just like so much that had gone wrong in her day, it all returned to one person, to one meddlesome Jedi of the Galactic Alliance, by the name of Aryn Teth.

Could Darth Metus have felt the Force Bond the Supreme Commander created? Would his subconscious see that as a betrayal?

For the time being she buried the notion and instead used the rather intelligent AI System on Sullust to lock her chambers, securing it from both prying eyes, and the possibility that the Jedi would arrive at her door. She was doing her best to hide how she felt, to hide her tears, to hide the pain caused by the sense of doubt that lived and breathed in her Master. But, she did not know if it was enough. If he felt the same raw, choking, torment that she did—He would worry. He would come.

The presence of Aryn Teth would only make matters worse.

Instead, she watched the Sith Lord, shaken and fearful, lay down amongst her rumpled sheets. Was this all her doing? Srina truly did not know, but now, was not the time to try and discuss it. Darth Metus needed sleep more than anything else. And certainly, not her childish uncertainties, when he had far more important things on his mind. She sat down beside him but did not lay down herself, for fear that she would break her promise. The events of the day had left her exhausted. However, she had promised to watch over the dreadlocked man. So she would.

With her back resting against the headboard, the dim-orange and teal glow of Sullust pouring through the window, she waited with her legs tucked neatly beside her. Eventually, her Master rolled into her side, and she smiled briefly. He was more peaceful now. At least, he was, at first. The first inkling that told her something was wrong was a black feeling tearing through their bond. She knew the presence of the Force, and also knew, how connected they were.

His vision played in her mind’s eye as the room began to shake. Tremors on Sullust were common, considering the live lava flows, and she hoped the residents of the diplomatic consulate would blame the cavernous existence of the city over the Confederacy. They could be forgiven for much, but not, for shaking the capital city apart. Instead of waking the Sith Lord Srina sought to try something different. Something similar to what he had done, when she’d been trapped in a vision of his first death, and had nearly ripped the innards of the Ferocity out.

A gentle hand fell to his forehead and her eyes closed. Still, the room trembled, worsening, and she had to double her focus to try and slip into his subconscious. It was a form of dream-walking, but not for her benefit, strictly, for his. She had read about it in one of the tomes Er’in Tenel had left out during one of her study binges. Just when she was about to give up, the world changed, and she was no longer wearing a thin nightgown of shimmersilk.

She was no longer watching, but part of the dream, and she found herself dressed in armor that she had never seen. It was shining, bright, and her hair was braided back in intricate designs. She was dressed like a warrior queen, with an entire garrison of organics behind her, not droids. She could feel the heat from the sun above and the despair in the specters around her. The urge to fight her Master was strong. Is that what happened in this vision? Is this why he thought she would betray him?

He had asked her a question. Silver eyes strengthened as she found herself, trying to wrap her mouth around the ability to speak, and a singular word escaped her. “No.”

The Echani threw down her light-saber. She took off her gauntlets and began the lengthy process of unclasping her the armor his subconscious placed her in. As she undid every buckle, every tie, the pieces began to fade away. The faces that surrounded them disappeared. The battle was all but gone and instead, there lay only an open planet, with structures, and cities, but no people. A breeze stole her hair and she realized that her clothing had been replaced anew. It was a simple white dress, fitting, but made of soft muslin cotton that swayed with the grace of a rolling cloud. Was this how he pictured her?

The golden mask that Darth Metus had held was suddenly in her hands instead of his. Gray eyes fell upon him, lit with stars, and she repeated her earlier word. “No. I will not betray you.”

“Will you forsake me for this? Will you turn away from everyone that holds faith in you—For this?”

Srina pushed her hands together and the mask began to bend. She pushed harder and it cracked. It began to fall apart in her grasp, turning to sand, and the landscape changed. Green sprouted from a barren wasteland. The platform they stood upon became a gazebo and water filled the sands that stretched for as far as the eye could see. “That is not your future.”

“Death is not your gift. It has never been your path—Nor what binds you. It is not dark, or light, only life. Let go of your fears, Metus. Just...Let them go.”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

J O U R N E Y​

No.

Defiance. True and utter defiance reeked from the alabaster woman before him. In one breath, she stood ready to strike him down - armed and dressed for the most titanic of battles. At her back stood warriors, yet they were a sea of blurred faces. The realm of slumber did not permit detail for the Sith Lord this time; but even still his face recoiled with disgust. Here in the apex of his fears...here, he believed that the woman before him had come to contest his goals. His dreams. His desire to Conquer. To be Mando'ade once more.

No. I will not betray you.

He blinked.

Her lightsaber was at his feet, thrown down as if to add credence to the defiance roiling forth. Her fingers clutched each piece of metal and every clasp, prying them free and away from her person. And as they were cast off, they faded away - until only his Srina stood before him. She was pure. So pure and kind and good that he hesitated, to this day, to dare sully that. He hesitated...because she had become something special. A barrier against the abyss; his one and final failsafe against a true Fall.

And she refused to betray him.

The Mask was gone from his grasp. He looked down, flexing his barren fingers, only to find the glimmer of its form within her fingers. Will you forsake me for this? Will you turn away frm everyone that holds faith in you-For this? Srina then dared to do what his own mentor had so long ago. Before the Alor'e Council, he had taken a Hammer to the vile mask that had divided them; and now she reduced it to mere dust between her fingers. At first, there was anger. A savage snarl plastered itself upon his face...but then...

This is not your future.

The Landscape changed.

Life grew in the barren sands. Waters flowed to the thirsty ground. The Wastes of Mandalore had been born anew at her fingertips. Death is not your gift. It has never been your path-Nor what binds you. It is not dark, or light, only life. Let go of your fears, Metus. Just...Let them go. He looked about, in silence. Yet as the sound of flowing waters reached his ears did the Sith draw in a breath. The rage...the grimace of battle...slowly began to fade away from his face.

"I have...I have been burned." His words, simple and true came as but a whisper. The wind howled - stray dust from the abysmal wastes began to take form as something new. And should her starlike eyes look upon them, she would feel his anguish. The weight upon his heart - like many anchors - would tug upon her as it did he.

A flotilla flying into the sunset. He called them family, the occupants of those ships. The Dread Guard - his brothers in arms. Traitors to the last man, abandoning him and his cause.

A citadel burning to the last stone. His home, Castle Ne'tra, razed by the hands of supposed allies. Burnt by the first Confederacy - the nation he bled for time and time again.

A hooded man, hiding in the jungle. Exile. Dathomir became his home. He could not return to Mandalore - not with their hatred of the Sith. Not with their old grudges. He had nowhere left to turn, but these wild, ruthless lands.

A Council, turning its back. The Alor'e Council. They refused to see reason - they turned their back on the old ways and saw fit to govern themselves. They ruled themselves into stagnation and forsook millions of their own. He had to act - and yet they saw him as a usurper. A traitor. Without him, there would be no Ra Vizsla.

"I am afraid of being burned again. Of running. Of being hated. Of being cursed."

"I want to believe that you are different...I...I know that you are. I feel it with every part of me. You came into my life like no one else...But...How can I not be afraid?" He stared back at her - his eyes a deep shade of brown - before looking past her face. He looked at the reflections of the past. Mourning shaped his expression. "They were family. They were my friends. They were my people. How can I not be afraid?"

He shook his head, clutching his fists tight. "I just..."

Light?

His gaze fell down - and teal poured from his chest. Tiny, miniscule baubles of the purest light which formed a band together. They wormed their way forward, until they found the alabaster woman. And as he looked upon her, he could see similar lights radiating forth from her. Some stretched thin and far - reaching from her spine out into the distance. Yet one...one looped about her waist and disappeared just outside his peripheral vision. He did not understand that this was the foreign invasion of Aryn Teth.

And just as he could see her bonds, she would see his scars. Crimson lights which tried desperately to reach out, stretching as far as they could...but they were severed. Ragged. Broken.

One Light among so many Shadows.

Srina Talon.

"I...I have to try."

"I can't...I can't be afraid forever. I have to live don't I..."

He stepped closer; and with each step the light burned brighter. Stronger.

"I trust you." he breathed.

And in the waking world, the tremors finally ceased. The tension within her Master's muscles relaxed. The fear - for now at least - had been pushed back. Now, all about, the darkness of slumber began to creep in on Srina's walk into his dream. The vegetation began to darken - but it was a good darkness. A quiet darkness. A peaceful sleep.

And as the Sith found himself fading away, a smile was left upon his face.

"To you alone...I am Isley."​

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

“I have been burned. I felt my skin crack and peel. I have tasted the ashes of your Mandalore. I choked on smoke, helplessly, while I watched you die.”, the snow-kissed woman breathed, her voice carried on the wings of a bird, unruffled and ever-gentle. She did not let this specter of her Master feel the agony she carried with the memory of his death. The vision of his passing broke her taciturn heart, every time it returned, haunting her with abandon. “I have given up my home. I have given up my family. I feel your loss. I know your suffering.”

Her eyes closed for a moment when his every anguish passed through her anew. She could feel his fears, his pain, and unending agony threaten to pull her down. For a moment she wanted to sink beneath the surface of his emotions, to weep, to cry for him, but she forced herself to remain steadfast. Were she not Echani, were she not raised to endure, and to push through—She doubted she could have held on to this dream. It was too much. Suffocating.

He began to explain the truth of his paranoia, the root of in, and she allowed Darth Metus to speak. They were words that he seemed incapable of saying when in the waking world. It was safe, here, far from consequence or the brutal harshness of day. Light began to manifest itself, though, this was not her doing. She had manipulated his mindscape into a lush world of beauty and greenery but she had not called upon their Force Bonds in such a fashion. It had to be him. She could see his open emotional wounds. She could not call them scars—because these injuries had not yet healed.

Crimson bands leaped from him, shortened, and alone. They reached toward something, toward her perhaps, but they hadn’t the strength. Srina reached for him. Not with her hands, nor the Force, but with the light that escaped her. Bands of pure brightness rolled forward, reaching for the broken shadowed tethers, before she began to wind herself in the injured parts of him. She threaded her light with his broken bonds and repaired them. She would make him whole if the galaxy could not. Everyone else seemed to have failed him. Srina would not.

When her hands fell to her sides she felt drained. She gave everything she had. It had taken everything she had to mend her Master. Everything she had and then some. “Let the past die. It is the only way. Learn from it the way we learn from a historical document...But do not feel it. Let it die.”

He seemed willing to do that. Slowly, he walked toward her, lessening the strain. She felt relief. It belonged to both of them. His willingness to step forward, instead of constantly mourning the past, was the catalyst that brought them both up for air. She watched Metus disappear from the paradise she had created to remove the scars of a warzone wrapped around his heart. She would keep this vision alive for him. This place of peace.

With a slow exhale she noticed that she was also fading. Breaking away, in fractals of light that changed, and reformed into something new. Little white glittering butterflies that fluttered away until there was nothing left of her and blissful dark claimed the land.

Silver eyes opened in her bedroom on Sullust. The quaking had stopped. No one was pounding at the door. She looked at the clock. It had barely been two minutes since she’d tried to slip into his dream in the first place. Her head shook, filled with confusion, but eventually the haze began to clear. She felt exhausted. Empty—but relaxed. She could no longer feel her Master gripped in a state of mind-numbing fear. He slept soundlessly, seemingly dreamlessly, until she head a few words escape him.

"To you alone...I am Isley."​

Srina stilled for a moment. He was talking in his sleep, she was sure, but the small woman didn’t stop rubbing his back. She took care of him a she had been taken care of by those that cared for her. When she’d first met him, the very first time on Coruscant, she’d called him Isley. He’d seemed incensed by it. Had their relationship really changed so much that he could tolerate hearing it from her now?

She wasn’t certain, but, at least for now…Darth Metus had settled. The sound of even breathing kept her awake as artificial sunrise began to fill the room. The first few creeping fingers of dawn had been expertly orchestrated by whoever had trained the holograms. For now, the woman merely leaned back, and enjoyed the silence.

The Echani would sleep only after her Master had rested sufficiently.

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Srina Talon]

​

Srina closed the door to the bedroom that [member="Nysana Talon"] occupied as quietly as she could. Her even breathing was a small comfort, however, she still had much to do before she could try and force herself to close her own eyes. The whisper quiet halls were heavily soundproofed, but nothing could keep her from hearing the choked tears through the door, and nothing could keep her from the anguish that struck deeply through the Force. Soft footsteps took her through the fortress entirely unhindered. There was nothing to stop her, nothing but the night sounds of home, as it finally began to settle.

She wore a dress of soft material that was white as a cloud, yet, entirely bare from any sort of adornments. It was plain, and yet, traversing the halls that a silent wraith she seemed more like a lost little angel than anything else. Var had come to see how Nysana was fairing and had fallen asleep in the parlor. She stopped near a linen cabinet and pulled free a warm, dark colored blanket, and headed back down the stairs. Not long later found her draping the fabric over her sleeping, precious, baby brother. He was a grown man, certainly, but he would always be a child to her. Ever, would all of her siblings, be small and childlike in her heart of hearts.

Silver eyes examined him briefly. Fondly. She dare not breathe or make a sound, but this was one of the few times she could look at her brother and sister as she wished to. Like she used to.

He looked like a cherub when his eyes were closed. As if war, blood, and death never touched him. She would wake him with plenty of time to head out so that he wouldn’t be late for his duties with the Knights Obsidian. She knew he needed the militaristic structure that they had endured at Larinkáoi to function, and also, appreciated the fact that he had found a place within the Confederacy. It was one less thing she had to worry about.

Once she headed back out in the hall, she waved her hand over the keypad so that the door would close, and she could continue to make her rounds. The metallic sound of heavy feet on the approach caused her back to stiffen. She lifted the edge of her gown so that she could move with a little more purpose, ignoring how the material held to her form, or how the long fabric would make it difficult to fight. She had ruined more than one outfit in the name of combat. It wouldn’t be the first and it wouldn’t be the last. The red-eyed Magnaguard that made their approach were fearsome.

“Lady Talon.”, the lead greeted, the vocal modulator making a grinding noise, adding to the depth of their ability to terrorize without doing anything at all. “The perimeter has been secured. No anomalies to report.”

“None at all?”, she questioned, ignoring the honorific, and instead, going straight for orders. There was very little she could do when it came to the programming of the Magnaguard. General Grievous had outdone himself on their construction, however, he had made certain things stick. Calling her ‘Lady’ seemed to be one of them. Sighing, quietly, she bit her lip before continuing. “Patrol again. Then, you may retire to your charging stations and send out the next squad.”

“Acknowledged.”

Srina dismissed them after that. With her temperament as of late, they seemed almost grateful for it, but she didn’t think anything of it one way or the other. She eventually found herself wandering in the hanging gardens as she so often did. It was one of her favorite places to be, especially at ‘night’, when the habitation sphere reflected holographic images of a perfect starry sky. For a few moments, she could forget Maramere, she could even forget Orcus, and simply breathe.

It was all the time she really had to herself these days. Her sister had gotten past wanting to kill her for the most part, and moreover, seemed determined not to let her out of her sight. It was as if she knew what her elder sister was planning. Srina had to be careful, about whom she crossed, when tearing through space to their homeworld.

Once she arrived—The waste of life that plagued her family would die. She had no intentions of bringing Nysana or Var along with her. Not because she thought they couldn’t handle it, but because she knew, that Dalantus would use them against her. He would use the entirety of her bloodline against her if it meant that she would submit.

Delicate fingers rose in the air and she plucked at what seemed like nothing before she threw her hands apart. The view changed. Every time she moved, she got closer, and closer to seeing her home. Few would recognize the bright dot on sight, but Srina had spent weeks, months, studying star charts before taking her leave. She had not forgotten what the cluster of Six Sisters looked like.

She never would.

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

The door was closed.

It was better this way. Better that there be a dam to stem the flow of emotion to his Apprentice. Better that she would feel as though nothing was out of the ordinary. Common sense would dictate that the average soul would not be alright following the demise of a sibling - and [member="Srina Talon"] was an intelligent woman. But. Right now. The Sith had made the decision not to share his burden. The alabaster woman carried many weights upon her capable shoulders. Whether they be that of an Exarch candidate or an estranged sibling, Srina never wavered in any challenge that was laid before her. Yet...Darth Metus felt her.

He felt the agony the snuck through their Bond. She would always do her best to hide it; but it was much akin to clutching a wounded limb - something was bound to drip through her fingers. Dragonflower was the source of the grievous wound inflicted upon her heart...and the origin of the new faces within the Home they had built. Chapters of Srina's past now walked within the Halls of the Well; but instead of joy, there was pain. Darth Metus knew that, if he asked her, she would tell him anything that he wanted to know. But, it was not his place. This was her family. These were Talon issues.

So he did what he would always do.

He would make sure she ate amidst fretting over their guests. She would find a bowl of soup, a side of pretzels, and her guilty pleasure (chocolate pudding) on a platter in her quarters. She would find mugs of tea waiting for her every so often. And when the time came to retire for the evening, Darth Metus would cradle her through the night. Knowing that she was in the midst of quiet suffering these past days was enough to inspire the Sith's own silence. While Srina clutched at her wound, Darth Metus took a brand to his. Although, deep within, the man carried an emptiness within the pit of his stomach, he never divulged the depths of his own misery.

His hands were stained with the most vile of blood. He had taken the life of his sister in the name of putting down a terrorist. A threat to his Confederacy. And though the Darkness in him justified the act, murdering his sibling was a sin of heinous. It ate at him, day and night. It robbed him of rest. It deprived him of appetite. It siphoned his will to do anything beyond lurk in his Archives. When Srina would eventually ask if he was alright, he would always dismiss his absence as giving her privacy for family time. She knew, but never pried. He was sure of it.

But tonight, as the Well began to lull into its slumber, Darth Metus emerged prematurely from his sanctuary. A crimson pyramid - the Holocron of Darth Caedus - rested flat within his palm. Recently utilized, but currently dormant. This day, the Sith was very Echani in his attire. He wore no shirt. His feet were bare. And a pair of comfortable sweats occupied his legs. Casually, he strolled about the corridors of his fortress...until he felt her relatively close by. Originally, his intent was to step into the kitchen, but...

He missed her.

His path deviated quite considerably and he came to a halt before the Gardens. Above, the holoprojectors depicted the starry skies above Ryloth - though the zoom was being adjusted by Srina's careful hand. Most would not know the systems just at a glance, but she had told him about this particular gathering of stars once before. It was in this very spot in fact. Before Tatooine. Before the chitstorm that had consumed their lives. They laid down beneath the stars with not a care in the world, and Srina graced him with a rare smile. Those are the Six Sisters. She said.

He didn't blame her for thinking about home, now that fragments of her life were sleeping in the guest rooms.

And though she never told him the full extent of why she left her homeworld, Darth Metus never...worried. He had become comfortable with her presence. So comfortable that he began to think she would always be there. But. Now that her siblings had come...would she return with them? Would she come back? He called himself on being selfish as he drew near. Wordlessly, his dominant hand found the small of her back, announcing his presence with a ginger touch. He offered a smile and, despite how he had been feeling, she would know it was genuine.

"Thinking of Home?" he asked. Probing.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Silver eyes remained focused heavily on the stars. So much so, that when her master lay a hand on the small of her spine, she flinched, and moved her fingers quickly through the air in front of her. The hologram snapped away as if it had never been. Instead, there was only the sky as it would be seen from Ryloth, and nothing more. Her pale expression was wintry, though he would feel her resolve, burning deeply in her core. She could not fully hide the wrath that rolled through her being. It was pointed, focused, and fierce.

At any moment Srina Talon seemed to be ready for war. Even now, within the relative safety of the Well, she could not relax. It was evidenced by the way her every muscle seemed to have been pulled to a point where it could snap. Despite her inherent grace and the focus she held for her siblings, she was trapped in a state of fight or flight. From the communications she’d received earlier in the day things were only going to get worse for the Talons before they got better.

If they got better at all. Nothing could bring back her sister-in-law or her niece.

All at once she could feel a silent longing. Much of her Master had been blocked from her as of late. She could sense it, she knew it, but considering the death of Ginnie Verd she had not pried. It was a family matter, just as her issues with her siblings, were a family matter. They still had not discussed Nysana bringing down what felt like the hand of some great deity over her head on Dragonflower. The condensed Force Storm that she had nearly pulverized her with had left the Echani with an energy deficit for quite some time.

It was no small wonder that the sisters had worked through their issues, and that the younger, was now sleeping soundly not far from them. In some small way Srina was afraid that Tellu had come to her not for revenge, but for death, so that she could rejoin her wife and child. Rather than to give Dalantus the pleasure of doing away with another Talon she had come to the one who loved her most. She would never raise her hand against either of their parents.

Srina was the only one left.

Var was good, even better now than he had been before, but it was unlikely that he would have been able to withstand the attack launched from her death scythe. Srina had always beaten Tellu. Never, had any of her siblings bested her, despite their closeness in age. It was the reason the white-haired woman had stayed in the military versus making a lateral move into politics. As silver as her tongue was, as much as she tried to learn about the world around her, nothing compared to her skill in battle. Nothing.

Darth Metus had asked her a question. Silver eyes flickered. They reflected the light like freshly polished steel. “Yes.”, she responded carefully, elegant brow creasing just slightly, while her thoughts laced together. “And no, my Master.”

The things that ran through her mind were complicated. A web of intricacies that she did not know how to explain. There were so many loose threads to the tapestry of her life that she feared what would happen when one was pulled. Would everything else become undone? She maintained a delicate balance, hovering on the edge of the darkness, though she never fell into it. There was always something that pulled her back. “I think of Nysana. I think of what we have all lost. My heart will always long for Eshan, because for the majority of my life, it was all I knew. Yet, no longer, is it my only home.”

Her expression was silent, as it typically was, delicate and serene. Were it not for their bond he would not know the storm brewing within her. He would not know the violence, the pain, and death she soon planned to visit upon the man that preyed on her House. He still may not catch it, not completely, from the way he had been shielding himself. It was a two-way lane. Bi-directional communication. When the door on his end closed, it wasn’t simply himself that he cut off, but also his connection to her.

“I must simply weight the cost of my future actions very carefully.”, she intoned, gently, though her smile held a touch of sadness. Whatever it was that she planned to do… It was dangerous. More dangerous, than seeking out old enemies, to bring them into the fold. Echani Command may not look kindly on the hell she intended to bring the one that had wrong her.The ghostly apprentice turned toward her Master and smiled again for his benefit. She knew he liked it when she smiled.

“How are you managing?”

It was an innocent question. Just as he had probed her, without really asking, she did the opposite and stated it bluntly. Srina wasn’t exactly the best at beating around the bush, though, she had respected his recent desire for privacy.

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

She jumped.

Like a youngling hiding their datapad after bedtime, the alabaster beauty reacted to her Master's presence with haste. Her fingers shot skyward, snapping closed to snatch away the depiction of Eshan. In the wake of the iconic constellation was the standard, nighttime depiction of Ryloth's skies. Darth Metus' lips curved into a slight frown at the response. Logic dictated that, perhaps, she simply did not know that he was there. After all, the door that he had closed was a two-way street.

But the irrational part of him, that place over which emotion held dominion, had a knee jerk response. It was small. It was as a tiny ember in a sea of black. Worry. Srina Talon never hid anything from him. And in turn, he never hid anything from his apprentice. Yet, as of late, their lives were mired by pains that they refused to voice nor share. Perhaps to protect one another from a perceived "burden." Perhaps simply due to how close to the chest these situations were.

Regardless, the Sith listened intently to the young woman's response. Yes, and No, My Master.

As the chime of her voice reached his ears, he could feel something faint between them. This was but a diminished reflection of the Echani's true state - for the wall seldom let anything leak through. But in this instance, he felt but a fraction of her resolve. A fraction of her anger. A fraction of her pain. She...Just like her Master, managed her agonies well, for a glance at her expression or the way she carried herself would never betray such feelings.

And Darth Metus knew how she felt all too well. The pain of loss. The pain of a home being taken away. Those were paths that he had traversed for so long. Too long. He set his gaze upon the young woman - and when she smiled, that knee jerk part of him melted. They were one, were they not? One - but hurting separately.

How are you managing?

Her concern was laid bare, bluntly. The Sith did not immediately answer, but rather extended the crimson pyramid which rested in his offhand for her to take. His nostrils flared as he inhaled a breath, attempting to put into words just how he was faring. Darth Metus did not want to worry or weigh his Apprentice down...But...Were they not one? Would he not shoulder her burdens gladly? Would he not bleed if it meant she did not have to suffer? And Srina...she would do the same in an instant.

So he answered truthfully.

"I killed my sister." his response was as blunt as the Echani's manner of speaking. "I spent my entire childhood protecting her - only for me to be the one to put her to death. I am not doing well, at all."

The steady, confident baritone wavered ever so slightly. The Wall he had erected suffered a fissure. If she tried, she could feel the well of agony that resided inside his chest. The guilt. The pain. The anger. "I..."

He inhaled a breath and exhaled.

"This...This will not do. What we are doing." he said, shaking his head. "You have always been who I turn to for everything. From when my dreams are damned to my frustrations about Mandalore. And you are the one I hold when peace is robbed from your dreams."

"So why, now, do we suffer alone? Talk to me. You don't have bear whatever it is you - and your siblings - are dealing with alone."

And maybe...just maybe...he wouldn't have to carry his cross alone either.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Not for the first time lately, she cursed her inattention and turned silver eyes back to the star-lit night. She couldn’t explain her reaction. Only, she didn’t want her Master to worry. Ever since she had been rushed from Tatooine she had felt differently. Like a burden. As if she needed to be watched, cared for, and coddled. Srina didn’t blame anyone or anything in particular. Not any more than she blamed herself. If she gave into weakness; was she not weak?

She didn’t want Darth Metus to worry about what plagued her. He had enough going on, enough pain, enough suffering. His diminutive apprentice desperately did not wish to add to his distresses.

Her gaze turned back toward the stars. Her thoughts were errant and distracted while she spared a few moments to collect what she wanted to say. Instead of bearing her soul or sharing what it was that was gnawing secretly at her insides she turned the focus of the conversation. If grief could be measured, she would have to admit that the scale tipped further for him—simply out of proximity. Srina had not fully registered the deaths of Aela and Iunna. She had not been present, had not felt their loss, had not seen the bodies. She knew they were gone…

And yet, some small part of her hoped, no, EXPECTED to see them when she returned to Eshan.

It was irrational. It was fundamentally incorrect. And yet, she could not help but wonder how the planet dared to keep turning when such innocent blood threaded the earth. Srina felt her fury build, felt the Force turn foul and disastrous within her before she swallowed it. [member="Darth Metus"] held something out to her and the young woman tilted her head slowly. She let the familiar feeling of curiosity overwhelm the base emotion of blind anguish. “What is this?”

Small hands accepted the crimson pyramid and she turned it over in her palms. Kittenishly inquisitive, as she had always been, she looked at each surface carefully. Her examination froze abruptly when her Master spoke the words that had been on the lips of every other Mandalorian since his deeds on Maramere had become twisted public knowledge. They all seemed to think that in some way, he had failed, in protecting his family. They were wrong. So very, very wrong. “You protected your people.”

Did they not know, did he not know, that the entirety of the Confederacy had become his family? Every man, woman, and child? They were bound by something more than blood. More than a chance birth, one in a million, to which they could not help whom they were related to. This was choice. The people under his graces CHOSE to be there. They were not bound by tradition or some misbegotten sense of a warrior’s pride. Those that ran his name through the mud, mostly, those from the planet she had watched burn had no sense of greater good. No sense of struggle or necessity.

She scoffed at their small-mindedness.

For a combatant race, full of knuckle-dragging imps, they were entirely too maudlin. Maudlin, and judgmental. They had more ridiculously malleable rules and superstitions than a Dathomirian witch. Her high opinion of him seemed to crash on deaf ears. His pain flowed through that which connected them like a river flowing downstream. There was no end to it. Only more, ever more.

The strong indomitable Sith Lord wavered. Both in voice and within. She scarcely needed to try to feel the heartache that Darth Metus endured. It was hidden just behind an invisible wall, but so raw, and abrasive that it seemed to claw its way through the cracks. He seemed to blame himself. He should not. “What happened to Ginnie…It wasn’t your fault. I don’t care who says otherwise. Is it sad? Yes. Was it the only move you had? Was it the only way? Quite possibility, the only chance we had to protect everyone?”

“Yes.”

He breathed.

And then, the conversation turned again, shifting from the problems outside to the distance within. Srina turned her eyes back toward the red pyramid in her hands. She did not have the answers to the questions he posed. Not fully. “We protect each other…”, she began slowly, her voice soft like falling snow, and nearly as lackluster as a cold winters day. “Even if it means protecting each other from ourselves.”

It was true. She shared with him many things freely. The Echani-born woman did not know the meaning of keeping secrets simply for the sake of it. If there was something she didn’t say, there either a reason for it, or, it hadn’t occurred to her that someone else would want to know. The soft-spoken creature idled as she stepped forward, toward the open gazebo, so she could breathe in the evening air. The Well had become home. It was not with shame that she noted this, but, with a sense fact.

“I left Eshan at the behest of my father. At the time, with the planet under attack, it was the only way to avoid being trapped in a marriage contract. They old. Archaic. Barely practiced, however, still legal in the eyes of the Elders. Were it anyone else I would have remained and performed my duty.”, she intoned carefully, her shoulders tight, though otherwise, she seemed entirely unmoved. To be stone was a trait that she had learned long ago. “The man that sought my hand is a murderer. He takes brides from small families and mysteriously their families disappear. Plague, Thyrsian attacks, untimely accidents… The lands of my family separate his. Soon after the title transfers are complete, the wife, passes for a number of reasons. Grief, suicide.”

“I tried to find proof. I could not. My sister married into a House that also suspected his drudgery. They found the proof required to report him to the Queen and Echani Command. He killed them. He killed Tellu’s wife, her child, and the rest of her house to keep them silent. He blamed it on the Thyrsians.”

It was believable. A well-thought-out falsehood. The government was in complete disarray and the military didn’t have time to deal with what equated to a mountain of red tape and bank disputes. Thyrsians ransacked and raided small communities regularly. The notion of an attack from the sun-worshipping fools was accepted easily, because it happened, every day.

Her heart cracked.

“He uses the horror of war to hide his own deeds. He killed that which I love to get my attention. To repay the ‘insult’ of my insolence. To bring me home.”

Dalantus Vectius Eägon was clever. Cruel, and clever. His actions would indeed bring her home. Only, she was not the same woman who had left. Her talents had grown. Her skill had tripled. Her ruthlessness knew no end. He had crossed a line that could not be undone. Trial either by the court or by combat was customary. Srina was past the notion of trying to prove his guilt through non-violent means. He did not deserve to rot in a cell for all his days.

He deserved to die.

 

[Malok]

You protected your people.

She did her best. And like always, her best managed to sneak through the cracks in his guard. The words of the alabaster woman bled with a logic that challenged the narrow view that the Sith had carried for so long. Her words were intended to comfort. To shake some of the agony which clung to his bones away. Yet...as she spoke, Darth Metus began to think. He, for the first time since drawing his first breath, realized that he...was not a Mandalorian.

For so long, he had seen the children of Mandalore as his people. For so long, he had always looked upon the stars as Srina had - hunting for the constellation which led the way back home. But, how had the children of Mandalore seen him? Darth Metus thought back to the final chapters of his first life...and found a malice bubbling within his stomach. An anger that he had buried under a mountain of duty and "honor."

When the deal came down to it, he was nothing to them. A lifetime of service meant nothing to his "vode." Never raising a hand against Mandalore meant nothing to his "people." Being there, through thick and thin, when the need was dire...it all meant nothing.

He thought about how things had been when he created the first, Mandalorian Empire. His people had fallen into a state of Stagnation. Their culture was dead. And yet their council refused to do anything - refused to even name a Sole Ruler. Yet, when the Sith acted and did what their culture demanded, they turned their back and refused his claim. Even now, they curse his name. Because he was born with the Force. Because he was himself. He was never a Mandalorian. They were never his people.

The Sith reached out, gingerly trailing his fingertips upon Srina's cheeks. Though burning with the Dark Side, his eyes were soft as they looked upon her - grateful for the truths she spoke. But, as his words shifted towards the burden she carried...he found a new anger burning within his stomach. The mention of a predatory marriage contract...of slaughtering her kin...of punishing her escape.

Their bond burned with his knee-jerk thoughts. The thought of bringing the mightiest Armada the Confederacy had ever assembled played before his mind's eye. Fire and brimstone raining down on that scum who dared raise a karking hand against his Apprentice. Darth Metus...saw problems as nails sticking up out of boards. Where the Echani may look for diplomatic or thoughtful solutions to a situation, her Master reached for the nearest blunt object. And though he would never attempt to direct her vengeance, he was not above being a Hammer upon the skull of Dalanthus.

For a moment, silence ruled the Sith as his gaze found the Holocron yet clutched within her grasp. A finger pointed at its crimson form.

"That is the engine of your vengeance. A Holocron, containing the knowledge of one of the greatest Sith to ever live. Darth Caedus. For many days, I have studied his might...but now, we shall study it together."

He swallowed, attempting to bury the wrath which burned under the skin. If this was how he felt upon simply hearing her agony, how must his Apprentice have felt. There...There were no words in Basic that could have enough right now. But, Darth Metus knew how to speak to his alabaster charge. He ran his knuckles, gently, down her arm. His eyes never left hers. And what he said, without saying a word?

I've got you.

She knew this. Of course she would. But, he knew how much it mattered to hear it said - for she did the same for him quite often.

"I...I won't lie, I want to make him pay right now, but that is not the best move. It is the Mandalorian solution, not the right one." he began. "Is there a way of getting your family out? The Smugglers. We have the smugglers - can't we relocate them here to the Well?"

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

She could feel [member="Darth Metus"] drifting. Lingering on that which had already come to pass, on his memories, and of the man that he used to be. The Mandalorian pride that he held had never, in her eyes, brought him anything but pain. Srina had told him before. She had said it countless times, to their friends, to their enemies, and more specifically to herself. Especially as of late. “Let the past die.”

“—And if you cannot do so…Kill it.”

Srina meant those words more than she could ever truly express. She valued her family, her upbringing, for what it was. She did not look back on every fight she’d ever had since leaving Eshan. The pale Apprentice did not blame herself for the trail of bodies that she’d left behind when Dalantus Eägon had sent her own family after her. She refused to shoulder his mistakes, and in her eyes, her Master ought to adopt the same policy. She would tell him as often as he needed to hear it. She would make it a public service announcement if he couldn’t accept it. He had defended his nation. He had sacrificed, for his nation.

Darth Metus had done nothing wrong.

As she explained her past, glossing over some of the worst, that would undoubtedly send her Master into a crusade—she could feel him reacting regardless. She could feel his desire to avenge her. To crush that which would harm her to dust. Srina could feel his rage. His anger. A soft smile crossed primrose lips, wistful, and almost affectionate. It was brief. A flicker of life within her cold exterior that shattered the illusion of emotionlessness that she cultivated so well. Darth Metus had a way of making her feel infinitely important without saying anything at all.

His focus turned toward the holocron that she held between delicate fingers. It glowed lightly in her grasp, giving her alabaster skin a rose hue, red light, which reflected in silver eyes. For a moment she was lost in a sea of whispers. The Darkside had always murmured to her. It broke through any misbegotten notion of following the light. The Force had led her to a Sith Lord—not a Jedi Master. She had long ago accepted the reality of it. When her Master claimed that this was the method of her vengeance she glanced back toward him.

The partially transparent object might have been worthless to a non-force user, but, it was entirely fascinating to behold. It weighed almost nothing. Each of the many sides were smooth without any cracks or damage. She could feel its age, inherently, but visually it looked brand new. There was something inside, knowledge, and beyond that—Power. Transfixed, she brought the small pyramid up to the level of her chest, and her fingers wove around it once. A flare of rage. A flare of hate. A burst of agony. It coaxed life into the pyramid and it pulsed in response. “Together.”, she responded softly, quietly, as she instinctually caused the artifact to open.

Darth Metus ran his knuckles down her arm and she tore her eyes from the pyramid. It reverted to its inert state when her focus was broken. She knew he only wanted to protect her. He asked if they could relocate the rest of her family to the Well and her expression fell to emotionlessness once more. Within, sadness reigned, and she only wished it would be that simple. “Do you think they would leave?”

“Do you think my mother and father would abandon their home now? Would allow this to stand? War between our clans will be inevitable.”

With that in mind, Srina fully, and completely intended to end it. She would cut off the head of the snake in the bloodiest way imaginable. She would slice through him slowly. Inch by inch. She would make Dalantus Eägon feel every moment of her wrath, and she would remind his entire house, of what would happen if they followed in his footsteps. Srina would run through his bloodline as if they were made of water and scatter their memory to the winds.

“It is a matter of justice, Master. He will pay for his transgressions. In full.”

 

[Malok]

Let the past die. And if you cannot do so...Kill it.

The alabaster woman was the only one who spoke - nay demanded - this of the Sith Lord. Those few with whom he shared a common heritage, his extended kin for that matter, wanted his heart to bleed as much as it already did. As the old saying went: “Mandalorians have long memories” and for this reason every offense was remembered. Every agony was remembered. But [member="Srina Talon"] was his Angel of reason. Unlike any other soul in his life, she knew that his grief was just an endless spiral - and that the chains which bound him to Mandalore would only bring him endless suffering. Deep down, there was a part of Darth Metus that knew this to be true.

Deep down, there was a part of Darth Metus that longed to bury his past. Once and for all. He felt as though, when he looked in the mirror, he was a sorry excuse for a Sith at times. The word Darth was many things - a symbol of dominance being chief among them. But it was also a signal that the old life was being left behind. When one adopted the mantle, they did not teeter and totter between who they were and what they are. There was never a Sith who seized their place among the Dark Side, only to allow shackles of the past to bind them. It was as the Code said: The Force Shall Free Me.

When he looked upon her, there was something burning within the sulfuric depths. Something resembling understanding...acceptance, even...but it was quickly replaced by wrath. It went without saying that the snow-kissed woman was the most precious part of his life. That shielding her from all pain was something he would do without a moment’s hesitation - even at his own peril. That answering her pain was something that every fiber of his being screamed to do. But, as he had stated previously, the notion of sending his best and most vicious to Eshan was taking a hammer to a delicate situation. The circumstances which led Srina Talon to his life had to be answered in a different manner.

And that manner rested within her hand. By her touch...by her Darkness did the Holocron respond. The arcane whispers began to flow, sweetly caressing her mind before bleeding through their bond. There was a true solution to her dilemma. A true solution that would bury his past.

Together. he agreed.

But first, a question in response to his fervent wishes. Would her family...her parents...would they abandon Eshan in favor of the Well? Well, if they were anything like Darth Metus and his Mandalorian shackles…No. It took tragedy to make Srina leave her home. Tragedy to make her siblings arrive at her new doorstep. While it was indeed wishful thinking, Darth Metus knew that her answer was true and there was no need to press his suggestion further. Rather, the time had come to focus on the solution.

”That he will. But in order for you to do so - you must die.”

There was no malicious intent in his voice. No threat of harm or actually throwing his beloved Srini into the Netherworld. But rather, this was a metaphorical death. An abandonment of the old world. Burying the past. Becoming something far greater in the Dark Side.

”There is so much power within you - power that you credit to our Bond...to Me. But by your hand, my office was laid low. By your hand, you danced with an Imperial warrior and survived. Nearly laid him low. I recognize your Power, Srina.”

The Holocron pulsed all the more at his words. A harmony of Darkness was beginning to rise within Sinner’s Well. On this day, two Sith would be born - one reborn, one freshly forged.

”And so it shall be...you will die. You will be born.”

”Darth Omnia, the Dread Queen.”​

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

The pale woman had stood on the outside when it came to issues her Master had with the Mandalorian people for quite some time. She knew them from history, random encounters, and the general dissent that had taken place on Dagobah. For the sake of their nation she had tried to attend a wedding the group had thrown, both to adhere to a promise made for a friend, and to get her own perspective. It had ended in disaster. They had, likely unknowingly, given shelter to a monster. They had kept the truth of Ginnie Verd from them all. Leaving Srina to find out, and then, leaving her to relay it to her Master.

It made no sense. The leader, Mand'alor, may not have known the truth of Nemesis. But she did know that her ally believed his sister to be dead. That an entire people mourned her sacrifice and their own hand in it, no matter, how necessary. One versus the many. One, would lose, every time. The silence between their nations was deafening. Despite the treatment of her Master on his home world, the wedding, had been the tipping point. They were not allies.

If things kept on as they were—they never would be.

Regardless, all that being said, her Master had a tendency to cling to that which had already passed. His grief destroyed him. It tore him apart from the inside out, and he dwelled, until paranoia and self-effacement threatened to ruin everything which he held dear. When she told him to let the past die, she meant it, every word. The present and the near-future was all mattered.

Srina could feel the emotion that her story evoked in Darth Metus. It roiled through her, seeping into her pores, and she drank the anger down like water. She drank deep of fury, of pain, and locked it all away inside the deepest part of her heart. There, when she needed it most, she would convert it to power. When the slender Echani finally released the wrath that she had buried in her core there would be no doubt as to which side of the force she was aligned. Her pale features, her white saber, and exquisite demeanor were misleading.

She was not Sith because of some sweet call to the Darkness. She was Sith because it was the superior tool. The Echani would use this superior tool, to its fullest extent, to lay waste to anything that got between her and her true enemy. Srina could feel the power, the shadows, that whispered and pulled at her psyche. It was distracting enough that her voice was distant, gaze empty, though reflecting the crimson light. If she listened hard enough she could almost understand what it said without any words at all. Almost.

Her eyes bled gold. As if someone had pressed a needle into her iris and shoved down the plunger. Color bloomed. It swept away the silver, blotting it out, the way a storm cloud blotted out the sun.

“Then—Let me die.”

She could understand the words her Master spoke, and yet, she could not hear his voice. The holocron was speaking louder. Did he not hear it? She felt his words about power wrap around her spine and her expression held a touch of confusion. Without their bond, she would be nothing, and no one. Was her power not his? Did it not stem from him? Ever since she’d met him on Coruscant her force abilities had grown. They sprang from nothing, from intuition, and need. Srina did not actively search for gifts. She read, certainly, but she didn’t crave power the way most Sith did. She required it, but only enough, just enough, to meet her needs.

So when she needed it most—it was always there.

The words that filled her mind were coupled with a sense of finality. For the first time, she did not take offense to being called the Dread Queen. It felt less like a poke at her ability and more about being part of the world her Master existed in. “Darth Omnia…”, she whispered back, still watching the holocron, as the light grew. “...the Dread Queen.”

From deep within the artifact she heard a voice that curdled her blood, before, washing away discomfort with fire. She did not know the sound. She would not be able to describe it if she tried. It felt like a memory. It belonged to someone else, perhaps, not the one who created the holocron but something the maker had experienced. It was lesson number one. It was her first, true, education about the state of dark and light. It was poignant. She would never forget it.

"Light and dark are no more than nomenclature: words that describe how little we understand. What you call the dark side is the raw, unrestrained Force itself: you call the dark side what you find when you give yourself over wholly to the Force. To be a Jedi is to control your passion…but Jedi control limits your power. Greatness—true greatness of any kind—requires the surrender of control. Passion that is guided, not walled away. Leave your limits behind.​

​

If your surrender leads to slaughter, that is not because the Force has darkness in it. It is because you do."​

In that moment it made sense. Indeed, the Force was a tool for power. There was only one dark side she needed to fear. The one that existed within.

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

The Flame had been Lit.

Fire was the beginning of all things. When the Galaxy was devoid of existence, it was by Fire that life came to be. It was by Fire that mankind rose from the muck. It was by Fire that all blades are Forged. And as the words formed and fell from the Sith Lord’s lips, an understanding began to form within the mind of his Apprentice. A knowing imparted by the midnight whispers burning from the Holocron. But these whispers did not invade the mind of Darth Metus. Through he could certainly feel the power being uttered to Darth Omnia, he could not make out the words. They were hers to hear. Hers to comprehend. Hers to live by. But for the Lord of Dread, there was another utterance. A thunderous command deep from the depths of the Holocron.

Where the Echani was bequeathed a memory...an experience from the hands of those who had lived centuries before...Darth Metus was bequeathed instruction. R E M E M B E R The syllables rumbled within the depths of his mind, causing his sulfuric gaze to widen at the sensation. Remember…Remember what? It seemed so strange a word to be spoken - to be demanded to look to the past. Had his Apprentice not demanded that he let the past die? Had not the shackles of Mandalore done enough to threaten his present? Why? What good was there to remember? W-

R E M E M B E R​

Louder. The command roared as if a typhoon were within his skull. So mighty was the utterance that Darth Metus’ own eyes snapped to a close. So furious was the roar that even Omnia would hear it rattling within her psyche. His fingers tightened about the form of the Holocron, reeling from the sensation. What’s more, the weight of Darkness fell upon his shoulders. Divine pressure began to seep into every fiber of his being - Demanding. Compelling. He parted his lips as if to speak, but found his voice to be raw. Stolen. As if wind had swiped the oxygen from his very lungs. But the question was there: What do you want me to remember?

The Pyramid shuddered within his grasp, as if infuriated by the inquiry. But...it did as the Code dictated…The Force freed the Lord of Dread. The weight. The thunder. All twisted into a cacophony of sound until the Well was no longer before their eyes. Darth Metus forced his eyelids to open, blinking against the calamitous noise which ravaged his mind. And as he stared, he witnessed…himself? They were no stranger to visions. No stranger to glimpses of the future dancing before their dreams. They walked that road together, many times - but this was different. This was being force fed; like an abuser satisfying the base needs of the victim. This was not meant to be peaceful. This was meant to awaken. This was the Fire.

Isley Verd knelt before a God.

A being of enormity. Draped in midnight, his very voice shook the heavens. With mere words, the Dark Lord reduced the Mandalorian to his knees. He gave the warrior a choice - to accept his invitation or to face oblivion.

But there was no resistance to be found in the warrior. He removed his helm and set it into the dirt. With arms outstretched, he yielded. He surrendered.

The Dark Lord took his hand and placed it upon his brow.

Agony shrieked from the Mandalorian.

He fell to the dirt - for he had seemingly died. But in that instant, something new was born. Its first breath were the midnight streaks which burned upon the Mandalorian’s flesh. Its first cries were the progression of the dark mark across his body. Its first steps...were invaded the mind and soul of the fallen.

And so this anathema was given form and purpose. This curse. This spirit. This Dread.

The Dark Lord gave life...with a touch of his boot, the broken man rose. But it was not a Mandalorian, but a man whose eyes were stained with sulfur. The Father then named his creation...no...his son. Darth Metus.

Remember.

Reality came crashing down upon the pair in that moment. Gone was the desolation of Korriban where his “birth” had transpired. Gone was the Dark Lord of the One Sith who had given him life. And purpose. New strength radiated from the grasp of the Sith, as the final utterance whispered within his ears. The final command to let the past die. Because it was never his past. He was not born as humans were - not of flesh and lust. He was born by the ambition of a God; to seize potential and bend it to his whim.

And in this task, Darth Metus had succeeded. For decades he grappled with the Mandalorian, fighting for every breath. Fighting to maintain control over their union. Fighting to be the one who looked upon the waking world. But when the warrior refused to accept his demise...when the Mandalorian clawed his way back from the Nether, a reality faced them both. Divided, they would never again be able to sustain themselves within the world of the living. Divided, they would diminish and decay. But as one, they could...no...they would never die again.

But now, Darth Metus remembered. He remembered the metaphorical dagger he drove into the spine of Isley Verd. He remembered ejecting every shred of the Mandalorian back from whence he came - into the Nether. He remembered being left standing, with a body that was finally his own. But the mind...had been tainted by their struggle. Memories. Ambitions. The grit of Mandalore yet tainted his vessel. And Darth Metus lost himself to what was left behind. He wandered through the Galaxy, convinced that he was the Mandalorian...but had simply accepted the Darkness. He had forgotten his birth. Forgotten his own ambition. But now.

He remembered.

A burning glance was cast upon the alabaster woman. She had called him Isley once, out of understanding. Out of love for her master and dearest friend. But that name and that man...he had died long ago. The past was dead, finally. And in its place, a Devil now stood within the Sinner’s Well. But…He tugged upon their Bond. It was still there. Every memory. Every moment. Everything that had made them…

”I had forgotten…everything...” he breathed, finally finding his voice.

”But now...Your training can truly begin, my dear Apprentice.”

”Fear me not.”​

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Malok]

R Y L O T H​

Months Later…​

There was next to nothing that they could hide any longer.

In the beginning, their union demanded proximity. For those first, precious hours, to be more than a few paces away was the definition of agony. Every fiber of their beings craved the sensation of safety and wholeness which came from being within inches of the other - but it did not last forever. No, just like any relationship, the Bond between Darth Metus and Srina Talon grew and matured. It began to understand act as a highway between their lives. A beacon to bring peace of mind when their obligations saw them worlds apart. Their Bond shared their emotions: their worries, their joys, and their pains so that they could bear them together. Through this, they could borrow strength from one another. The Sith’s boundless magicks and the Echani’s prowess were theirs to claim.

Yet, in the present, their Bond had grown…quiet.

And Darth Metus did not notice until he thought upon it. It was a realization that, for a moment, placed a seed of worry in the pit of his stomach. Yet, as he stepped back to reflect upon what it truly meant, he could not help but feel a smile worm its way across his face. It had been the Force itself which had shakled their lives together...but it seemed that they chose to remain tied to one another. It was no longer the compulsion of an unseen deity that kept the Master eager to shield his Apprentice from harm. Nor was it the compulsion of the Dark Side which encouraged the Apprentice to trust wholly in her Master. The Force was merely the catalyst by which their relationship blossomed. And now, there were no spontaneous changes. The Bond yet lingered - their lives forever shackled to each other, but they now gave more than the Bond ever took.

There was no greater example than the aftermath of what was intended to be a momentous occasion for the Confederacy. Personally, the event was to be something of a redemption for the travesty that was the Golbah Games. However, the War Game of Vendaxa had quickly evolved into a wound that would rest solemnly upon Srina’s heart for days. The reason being, Vendaxa was quite some ways away from Sinner’s Well - even with their swiftest hyperdrive being utilized. Therefore, when one of her favored droids fell on the battlefield, she had to wait in order to restore it using the Well’s backup systems. When at last they returned to Ryloth, the Echani disappeared into the mammoth fortress in order to revive her beloved automaton.

And the Bond that He had forged with his Apprentice reared its head. Though the shackle placed upon them by the Force remained the same - only informing them of the others whereabouts and most active emotions - he felt compelled by the love he had for his Apprentice to set foot into one of the Fortress’s workshops. Typically, this space was reserved for the local servicemen who would see to the upkeep of their attendant droids. However, this day, the Sith was determined to see something done to alleviate his Apprentice’s sorrow. He was not the greatest constructor of droids, mind. Nor did he pretend to be. But what he did understand from years of upkeeping Beskar’gam systems was now put into practice.

Thus, while Srina toiled away for hours to restore her beloved Bella to working order, Darth Metus toiled to ensure that it would never again see such a premature demise. It was simply because their Bond was Love. And because he loved her, he hated to see such a dear part of his life suffer in any shape or form. What was a few hours if it meant her smiling more?

There would come a point where there would be nothing for the Echani to do but wait on the backup to begin its final routine - which would require hours of nothing but patience. And in this stage of waiting, where the Sith felt his Apprentice cease her largest worries for just a moment - his presence would brush against her own. Not unlike a small cat brushing up against another in passing, as if to entice her to follow. He wanted her to find him in the dimly lit, cramped workshop that had been his home for the past several hours. He wanted her to see the fruits of his labor: a creation that had been wrought without the need to sacrifice life under her pillow for one. And with it, perhaps, she would rest a little easier when it came to those precious droids of hers.

And only because he loved her that much to care.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

She sat quietly within the confines of her chambers in the Well. An overstuffed chair had been procured from one of the open markets on Naboo, and it entirely filled the corner, in her favored shade of sky blue. The fortress that she oft called home lay quiet. There was nothing on fire, no Vi’Dreya running amuck, and no emergencies to tend to. In a very literal sense, she was avoiding her holo-comm as if it was made out of something poisonous.

She could leave the duties of an Exarch to Adron for a day could she not? Was that not why they had underlings and each other to balance the scales? No matter. Geonosis had survived for many moons without her. It would survive a few more.

The slender woman was sitting with only one of her murder moppets. The red-hued rabbit, Leo, had been entirely inconsolable the entire way back to Ryloth. She’d shut him down to preserve his functions. Rex Taff had built them with interesting complications, but, it was what made them so endearing. To need one another. To require the one other being, that was made just for them, to care, only for each other. Or—At least through a clever trick of programming to seem to. “She’ll wake up soon.”

Her words would fall on deaf ears. Since BNI-Leo was in standby, he appeared to be sleeping, or even in a power saving mode. Srina wasn’t sure why it bothered her so much to see one of her rabbits being cut down in the War Games on Vendaxa. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t bring her back. It back. They were equipment. Why did she feel so attached? Possessive?

These were traits that she scorned.

Her expression hardened. Then, softened, whilst the red-hued droid slept in her lap. He was heavier than he looked, despite his small size. Giving a reserved sigh she raised the holo-book she held in her hand and continued to read from it. Her rabbits liked when she read to them. Especially this story. It was their favorite.

“In this City…There are no people. The lights are on in all the houses but there’s nobody on the streets. Are there people inside? I peek in a window to find out. There are people. But, they are with them. I look in other houses. These people are with them, too.”, she trailed off quietly, her soft voice ringing, just enough that it filled the corners of the room. “This city is just like all the rest. Being with them is fun. More fun than being with people. Nobody comes outside anymore. There are no people in this city.”

“I will leave this city and go to another one. I hope that I will meet someone. Someone just for me. But if that special someone falls in love with me...”

The red-hued rabbit began to stir and Srina paused. Part of her was worried was that he would come up for air just as distraught as he had been, but hopefully, the familiar surroundings would make up for his lack of a companion. A singular ocular looked up at her and she thought she could almost feel the unrest. The sadness. “Not yet. Her memory core takes time restore.”

“Oh.”

The male rabbit was always of few of words when Bella wasn’t around. A soft brush against the base of her skull caught her attention. Curious, she followed it, and felt a partial smile slip over her features before it faded away. Her Master was calling. “Come. Let us visit [member="Darth Metus"] while we wait.”

BNI-Leo perked up a little. Annoying the Vicelord was one of his favorite pastimes. Though, typically, it was something he did with Bella. They often stole his artifacts and hid them beneath Srina’s bed so they could add them to their collection. He got up so that his Mistress could stand and she let the saddened rabbit take her pinkie while they moved. She kept reading to him as they went, from memory, and did her best to keep him distracted. “If that special someone falls in love with me…I will have to leave that someone.”

“Even so, I want to meet this special someone. This is what I think as I leave the city with no people.”

The Echani arrived to the workshop not long later with BNI-Leo hopping along. She wore white, a simple dress, unadorned, and without any glitz or glam. Her long moonlight hair flowed free of braids or any decorative knots. “What is it that you are working on my Master?”, she questioned, gentle, while carefully navigating the area. Srina didn’t want to knock anything over.

“Greetings, Vicelord.”

BNI-Leo sounded absolutely miserable. As if someone had taken away his personality and replaced it with a blank slate.